Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  Stroker regarded her over his last spoonful of the cold summer soup. He smiled as he rested his spoon indicating he was done.

  “You ask many pertinent questions which I will endeavor to answer. It is good you are curious, but not enough. For this characteristic to be quenched, you must also believe.”

  Their dishes were rapidly cleared as the entrée was laid before them. Stroker and Miranda patiently waited until the server was out of earshot. Once he was, Stroker began his explanation.

  “What was your first question? Ah, yes, who are the Addunés. It’s an interesting subject you raise. Many people have tried to discover the truth only to dismiss where the evidence leads them. You remember my card?”

  Miranda fingered the card she’d placed in her pocket.

  “Of course, I remember it.”

  “Yes, you were almost set to run from the lunatic that would possess such delusions.”

  “Touché, but that doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “Let me rephrase what I so poorly tried to convey. Vampires are my business. They are how I make a living – a very good living, by the way. Yes, I’m aware it’s a joke to people such as yourself.” he recited good-naturedly as he partook of more wine.

  “I guess I’m not getting the humor, but then I’m English.”

  Miranda was tired of this endless chase. She wanted him to be blunt, but she’d ruined that opportunity with her initial reaction. It was understandable that he was taking his time and meandering about the terrain.

  Stroker’s smile remained.

  “I don’t expect you to find it amusing for vampires are a very serious business.”

  Stroker held a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. Both were upright, his hands raised. His eyes had become steely and a look of craftiness lurked inside. It was an insidious look that held intelligence, force, and unreasoned combativeness. It told of an almost military type of acumen – the kind of man that could plan campaigns to annihilate the enemy, and possess the fortitude to accomplish the goal set.

  He crossed his knife and fork over his roast halibut in too slow a motion. While it was only a cutting motion, the slow nature of it gave the impression it was ritualistic in nature. He sawed through a tender morsel and speared it with his knife raising it to his lips. The candle on the table caused flashes of light to reflect off his eyes. The sparks that glittered seemed to come from an internal combustion – as if even mentally contemplating these mythical creatures set off a frenzied chain reaction.

  “These creatures are dark and dangerous. You have to track them very carefully or you will find that you are the one that is being hunted. My life is devoted to their destruction as was my father’s. He died at their accursed hands and I vowed I would carry on his life’s work. He died because he was too good at his job. The cowards grouped together and killed him – my mother, also.”

  “Killed? Yes, you did mention that you were raised in an orphanage, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I was placed there.”

  “And they murdered your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? Was she involved in your father’s business?”

  “No, it was entirely retaliatory and held no purpose except revenge. I was out of the house at the time. She had sent me out to run an errand. I came home with the milk to find them dead. It’s how I came to be an orphan. I often wonder what would have happened had I been home. Would they have spared me or torn me to shreds as they did my parents? It goes unanswered and is pointless to continue to ask, but I do.”

  “It’s understandable,” Miranda comforted quietly.

  She had been too harsh in her judgments. If his family believed vampires existed, then naturally their child would. Especially if they had been murdered in such a callous way. It was easier for a child to believe it was vampires rather than the truth of a savage stranger or acquaintance accomplishing the deed.

  Miranda took another bite of her grilled salmon and chewed, pondering the theoretical aspects of how we establish our belief systems. Was the reason she didn’t believe in such creatures as vampires because of her parents? Or was the judgment her own?

  “You’re very kind, Mademoiselle. You attempt to understand what you cannot. It is noteworthy, but not enough I’m afraid. As for my father, because of this deed I have never forgotten any of his words about these predators. I’ve made it my business to remember everything. He stated on many occasions that they were his sworn enemy. He urged me to proudly carry on the tradition of fighting them. Their deaths were the turning point in my young life that pointed me to my future career.

  I don’t know when or where vampires became legend rather than fact, but it happened over time – over centuries. Personally, I think it was they themselves that devised the tactic. For the ploy of their non-existence allowed them complete anonymity and freedom for even if seen, whom could you tell? Who would believe you? It wasn’t always so. In other centuries, they’ve been hunted to the verge of extinction. Perhaps that’s how they came up with creating this myth. The ruse is clever and a fine example of their cunning, but I give it no praise for I give the devil no due.”

  Stroker leaned forward holding his hands on either side of his plate. The silver utensils flashed in the candlelight as a knight holding a sword. The ravaged carcass on his plate reminded her that even humans could devour flesh without shame.

  “Mademoiselle, this is what the Addunés are – vampires. You ask me what they are and I tell you. I tell you they are treacherous. They are relentless. They are everything contained in your worst nightmares and more. Imagine being trapped in a cave with thousands of rabid bats ravaging your body and it still is insufficient imagery to convey their terror. It is a horror to encounter one. You can forget other things, but not the travesty of a creature that is not human – not animal, not anything that should exist and yet does. They live in the dark and feed off us. Our blood is what keeps them alive and they drink of it as they will. They are why I exist since I kill them in return for what they did to my parents and to prevent more innocent lives to be sacrificed to sustain such an unholy mockery. It is my life’s work not just because of my father and mother, but because that hatred is in my blood – it makes it boil.

  They are deceivers, Mademoiselle. They walk among us. Oh, do not believe for a second the ridiculous stories you’ve heard because they can well be seen in the day. They are not at full power in the daytime and so they select the night to reign supreme. It is in the day you must strike if you are to succeed for at night, they are unconquerable … or so they think! ”

  He paused to wink and laugh deeply as if enjoying their delusion. Perhaps he imagined it gave him an advantage for them to be so self-deceived. Miranda was more worried about his delusion. She concluded that’s all this talk was – self-delusion of the worst kind. He seemed so sure and was so wrong. She reminded herself he was a victim. He had become one as a child and had made up lies to keep from falling apart. While she wanted to pounce all over this nonsense, his knowledge held her back. It was to her benefit to do so since there were grains of truth scattered in-between the sordid fantasy.

  Stroker leaned back in his chair giving a quick wipe to his mouth with his napkin to remove anything offensive. He replaced the napkin in his lap and placed his hands on either side of the table. He reached for the bottle of wine and refilled his glass to the top. He saluted Miranda and drank his fill. She decided not to wake the somnambulist. Let that come in its own time and place.

  “It sounds like you’ve done battle and won. Do you have a secret?”

  “The secret is that they are not as invincible as they think. It’s mostly fear that they use to control us. Fear is the weapon that is most effective and most powerful. Oh, yes, they are stronger than one thousand men at night, and yet, there are ways to …. contain them.”

  “I take that to mean you’re not sharing your secrets. It’s fine. Is there anything else that separates them from us?”

  “Ma
ny things. For instance, they can change appearance. There is the perpetually young appearance that you think you see and what they really are – decaying, decomposing corpses. They are fully capable of causing visions … dreams … it’s what I believe happened to you on the plane. To have a dream like that with no knowledge of what it meant … there is no doubt that you had come into contact with a vampire, Mademoiselle … or were in close proximity at the very least.”

  The thoughts of what happened on the flight came flooding back to Miranda. She remembered it and all the other dreams she’d had since. She wondered if what Stroker said could be true. No, it was ridiculous! Ludicrous! For it to be true would be to give credence to the notion that vampires existed and they didn’t. There was a far simpler, more logical explanation. The stories Reggie had planted plus reading those notes had taken hold and a nightmare had blossomed. She must have run across the old legend about a horse not jumping a grave in a story – or perhaps a movie. It had lodged in the recesses of her mind. No wizardry or supernatural need apply for that to have occurred.

  “Do you really believe that’s what happened?”

  “Yes,” Stroker said placing his glass between his two hands and rubbing the stem in between his finger and spinning it in either direction.

  Miranda picked at her meal. She took a sip of wine.

  “Then it is quite lucky you came along. What are the chances of you sitting next to me in that plane?”

  Stroker sprang forward onto the table. He challenged Miranda with his piercing eyes.

  “Chance? I never leave anything to chance, Mademoiselle. I apologize for being so deceptive and using a secretive, underhanded methodology always employed by my sworn enemy, but I confess that I arranged to sit next to you on that flight.”

  The admission startled Miranda. She did her best not to react. She calmly cut a another piece of the lemony-soaked filet and brought it to her mouth.

  “I see. Well, that does change things dramatically, doesn’t it? Now I have to ask you how you knew that …”

  “You would be flying to Fairfield Museum? You only need to keep current, Mademoiselle. The pieces of your exhibit were long since mentioned in the press release. I couldn’t believe when I saw mention of the treasure. And I knew that you were not in on your father’s scheme at that point. You would never send something that valuable to be displayed in such a crass and vulgar way. No offense, you understand.”

  “I quite understand. Did you know I’d be coming back to New York? I mean, before I told you. Is that why you stayed?”

  “Did I know you’d end up in New York? Well, it was a calculated risk. That is different than mere chance. I knew you were in Fairfield and could always have resorted to tracking you down there, but I knew you lived here – part of the time. And I know of your close attachment to this girl … Tiffany Rodriguez. She is rumored to be your closest friend and runs in charmed circles. I banked on this attachment and the fact that most flights from a place such Fairfield, need a connecting flight to get you back to London. Couple that with the tragedy of your father’s death and the need to enjoy yourself. What better place for you to do that than New York? Especially when you could be with your friend.”

  “But I could have gone to Chicago ...”

  “Yes, to see your brother, but you didn’t. Besides if you did, I could easily have found you. I only needed the one cover story I used on the plane. From there the move was mine to make since I just needed to speak to you one more time – alone as we are now – to tell you the truth.”

  “Truth is one of those issues that is not debatable and what you’re saying … well … I’m not sure I would file it under the category of truth.”

  “Really? Then where would you put it,” Stroker said placing his forearms on the table and leaning towards her.

  “I would put it under the category of rank speculation and cross-file it under active imagination. But that’s only half right. I did hear what you said about my father. I hate to admit it, but I believe it to be true. I believe he did take those items, but why is a question that is still open in my mind. You’ve given me no compelling argument as to that. In fact, you’ve hinted that the place seemed deserted. Therefore, you implied yourself that the Adduné house …”

  “…castle,” Stroker gently corrected.

  “…very well, the Adduné castle was abandoned.”

  “You listen well, Miranda. ”

  “Now, if only I could do as well in the thinking department we’d have something.”

  “You’re much too hard on yourself.”

  “I doubt I could come down as hard on myself as I need to at this moment. I feel horrid about this entire matter. It explains so much about why …”

  The face of Peter filled her mind. Peter! He had said they were his possessions. Was Peter part of this family? Was he hired by them the way her father had hired Reginald Charles? Or the Sokolov brothers?

  Another thought occurred to her. Perhaps Peter was a con man. Perhaps he had found out about the theft and wanted to claim the items for himself. No, she didn’t think so. He had acted like the righteous, wrongfully injured party. And then there were his words at the club. Everything fit in with Peter merely telling the truth. If he were an Adduné, it proved Stroker wrong about his vampire theory. Peter was all too human.

  Miranda didn’t know why she was so happy about her assessment, but she was. She took a few sips of wine feeling a smile written on her features, unwilling to be eradicated by decorum. Miranda closed her eyes and luxuriated in the pleasure taken in Peter being blameless. Yes, he had been cruel, but look at what had been done to his family. She now excused his shabby behavior. He hadn’t known her so why shouldn’t he try to get her back? Her father was no longer here to attack and there was his priceless treasure on display in that museum. He most likely was furious.

  Now she could admit to herself that she was attracted to him. It’s why she’d given so much weight to his dismissal of her. She felt entirely comfortable about being sexually interested in him. Why shouldn’t she be? She felt herself flush at the thought of seeing him again. She’d apologize and beg for forgiveness and ... Thoughts of Peter stopped as her mind filled with unanswered questions.

  “But is the entire lineage one of vampires? Is everyone who is an Adduné a vampire?”

  “Yes, anyone who is an Adduné is a vampire. It is a lineage of blood and not biological birth.”

  “And they were not in the castle? They were elsewhere … hiding as you say?”

  “I am sorry and very remiss in not finishing my little story. Yes, the Addunés were not in the castle and it was empty. It had been for years. Most likely, rumors spread of it being abandoned and those rumors must have spread to your father’s ready ears. When he came, he must have seen with his own eyes that no one was apparently around. You see, the villagers knew better than to trespass. Their grandparents carried stories in their collective memories. They knew the family came and went as it pleased and that when they did return, they would not take kindly to their possessions being disturbed. Your father did not have the benefit of being raised and schooled with these folk tales. He saw what he wanted to see, and never opened himself up to the possibility of conditions being anything other than could be seen with his own two eyes.

  While he was pillaging and pilfering their belongings, they were elsewhere practicing what is known as a dormant state. You have to understand that a vampire does not die – ever. They are eternal creatures and live for centuries. That is a very long time to remain awake. So if and when they tire of mores and certain attitudes, or if they are found out and in danger, they can choose to go into a dormant state where they sleep for months … or years. It’s entirely up to them. A person chasing them will give up – or die themselves. It’s another reason for their success.

  Their dormant sleep is different than ours as they are still somewhat aware of what is happening around them. Have you ever been very tired? So tired that you drift in and
out of sleep – in and out of your surroundings and environment? It is almost like this, but more subliminal. Consequently, if they are being hunted or threatened, they will feel someone coming near, but no more. They then choose whether to awaken and leave, or remain quiet. Staying quiet is best. No one knows their secret place. It is a closely guarded secret that they would never disclose. It would be too dangerous for them to do so. My father searched, but was never successful in finding out. I have my guesses, but have yet to be proven correct.”

  Miranda was barely listening to Stroker and his fanciful explanations. She was fixated on his initial assertion.

  “So if someone were to state that the stolen items belonged to him, he would be a vampire?”

  Miranda’s question interrupted Stroker’s leisurely sip of wine. His body jolted as he slammed the glass down against the white tablecloth. He lurched his upper body towards her in a manic way, stretching his arm across the table. Miranda wanted to recoil from his touch, but didn’t. It would be rude and she was anything but ill-mannered. The enormous palm of his hand now rested upon hers. His skin was cool and rough. The familiarity was not what she would normally have welcomed, but contact gave her an unusual sense of relief.